


Home Cooked Meals

by Ginger375



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men Evolution
Genre: Cooking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Girl likes boy, Neither want to admit it, Observing, Pre-Relationship, Sam is a wise person, boy likes girl, southern
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginger375/pseuds/Ginger375
Summary: Post-series. Sam has started to notice Gambit is spending a lot of time in the kitchen, making a certain southern girl’s favourite foods.
Relationships: Remy LeBeau/Rogue
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50





	Home Cooked Meals

Sam Guthrie was good at minding his own business.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of the goings on around the mansion; he just kept his commentary to himself. For the most part.

For instance, he noticed when Jean was mad at Scott by the way her smile got less easy and more forced. He noticed when Ray turned eight shades of red whenever he and Tabitha were in a room together and how she would pretend not to notice. He noticed when Jubilee was staring longingly at Bobby and he noticed when Bobby’s gaze lingered on a particularly buff hero during movie nights.

Little things, nothing earth-shattering or life-altering, but still. He was aware.

So when the Acolyte-turned-X-man Gambit started spending a lot of time in the kitchen, he knew there was a reason despite what the others thought.

Once he’d been cleared to leave the med bay, but was still on orders to rest as much as possible, Gambit had wandered into the kitchen and began perusing the food supply.

Sam had been sitting at the breakfast bar, drinking coffee and scrolling through the news of the day. He’d seen Gambit take stock of everything in the pantry and the freezer, as well as the look of disgust at the amount of highly processed snacks available to the students.

Sam didn’t say anything, he just made a mental note and filed it away for later.

The next time he saw Gambit in the kitchen, he walked in to find the man sitting at the island with Storm, who appeared to be writing a list. 

Did Sam want anything specific from the store, they’d asked since he was there. No thanks, he’s sure whatever they bring back will be great.

That night they’d had the best fried chicken he’d had since he was last at home to visit. Rogue had nearly fallen out of her seat when she’d tasted it. Gambit had just given a small smile and shrug.

Random bouts of down home cooking occurred over the following weeks. Jalapeño corn bread as a side one night. Cheesy grits for breakfast in the morning. Beignets for brunch on a Sunday.

Those in the house that hated cooking were more than thrilled to give Gambit their slot on the rota, and he seemed like he’d much rather be cooking than scrubbing a bathroom, so it all worked out for everyone.

It wasn’t until he once again found Gambit in the kitchen, this time with every burner on the stove going, piles of prepped ingredients on the counters, and some of the best smells he’d experienced since moving to New York State.

“So what’s on the menu for today, sir?” Sam asked as he sat at the island and dragged a knife and an uncut head of celery over. He’d grown up in a southern kitchen, there were no idle hands allowed.

Gambit turned from the stove, saw that Sam was making himself useful, and nodded.

“Jus’ dice those, if you would,” he said. Sam glanced at the piles of green peppers and onions and cut the celery to the same size. “We makin’ etouffe, or at least the closest thing to it since you can’t get crawfish in this flavourless wasteland.”

Sam chuckled. He’d remembered how utterly aghast Gambit had looked when Scott had handed him a bottle of so-called hot sauce that was definitely not Tabasco. No one in the house could season food properly, as far as he was concerned, except for maybe Sam himself, and Rogue.

Since then, when he was able to, Sam would hang out, and help out, while Gambit cooked. They didn’t say much, no in-depth conversations or anything, but pleasant enough small talk. Mostly discussing future meals-as-events, such as Sam wanting to do a full on Kentucky-style barbecue, and Gambit thinking out loud about a seafood boil once the weather got nicer.

Which brought him to the current situation. Gambit was trying to make a very specific meal, and had Sam serve as kitchen helper to keep everyone else out.

“Why is this such a secret? Is it a surprise or something?” Sam asked as nonchalantly as possible.

Gambit scoffed. “Like you haven’t already figured it out, Guthrie.” 

“Dunno whatcha talkin’ about.”

“I see right through your ‘awe-shucks’ folksy bullshit,” Gambit laughed as he dredged a piece of fish in some cornmeal mixture before placing it in the hot frying pan. “You might have everyone else here completely snowed, but I’m onto you.”

Sam just shrugged. Sure, weeks of observation lead him to deduce just who this meal was for, but it wasn’t Sam’s style to 

“I jus’ see you makin’ some very particular dishes, is all. Fried catfish ain’t exactly a common meal ‘round here.”

“No, I’ve seen what passes for a common meal ‘round here. Ugh.” Gambit cringed. “Sometimes folks just need somethin’ different.”

“Uh huh, if you say so,” Sam said going back to what he was doing and pretending Gambit hadn’t given him the stink-eye.

Soon enough, the smell of dinner began wafting through the mansion, drawing its residents to the dining room. The table was set and food laid out in a decadent spread that made more than a few mouths water.

“Oh. My god.” Rogue stopped and stared in awe at the spread on the table. “Is that…?”

“Fried catfish, hush puppies, and coleslaw.” Sam offered. “Plus some other stuff for the Yankees since they jus’ don’t appreciate quality food.”

Rogue sat and accepted the plate Sam handed her. “Did you make all this?”

“Nah, I just helped with the other stuff. Gambit did what you got on your plate.”

Rogue took a bite of the golden-fried fish. “This was literally my favourite meal when I was a kid.”

“You don’t say?” Gambit walked in with a jug of what looked like sweet tea, placing it on the table before taking his seat across from Rogue. “Does it live up to your expectations?”

“I’d go so far as to say it exceeds them,” she replied before biting into a hush puppy. “Mmmm, yep. You did good, Cajun.”

“Good. I’m glad,” he said softly as conversation around the table picked up.

Sam observed his fellow southerners, Rogue smiling shyly and Gambit trying to play it off like it was no big deal. Unbeknownst to the rest of the folks in the room who were raised above the Mason-Dixon line, one of the main ways a southerner shows they care is through food. One just doesn’t go to the trouble of finding out someone’s favourite meal and making it for them if they didn’t care. Food is love, his mama always told him.

“How come you never make my favourite food, Gambit?” Bobby asked from the other end of the table.

“‘Cuz your favourite food is frozen pizza,” Sam answered when it became obvious Gambit wasn’t paying attention to anything other than Rogue’s reaction to everything she tried.

The rest of the table’s occupants started talking about their own favourite foods, but Sam tuned them out. He instead focused on his own plate, savouring each bite, while still keeping an eye on his fellow southerners. 

He briefly wondered if they would ever realize what he’d already figured out. If he were a betting man, he’d say they would likely be more-than-friends within...six months, given how stubborn they both were.

But then, it was none of his business.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little idea that’s been floating around my brain. Visit my profile to see where it falls in the timeline. Thanks for reading!


End file.
